Looks royal, songs for heaven meet,
Thou wishest, thinking on his worth
Whose faintest image is more sweet
Than all thy dearest loves on earth.
The royal look is marred with years,
The song celestial is made
Into a litany of tears,
Into a blossom of the shade.
Thou art fordone: thine heart is rent
To praise who hath no fear nor shame.
Yet when thine utmost life is spent
Thou hast not even said his name:
But peace, the triumph is not ripe.
Canst thou not sleep a little space,
Or dream upon the oaten pipe
Till there appear the wishéd face?
Then well sufficing shall arise
From thy quiet heart that was so wrung,
A look in those translated eyes,
A word in that diviner tongue.
1918.